Page 58 of The Formation of Us
“So do I,” Dahlia said, her eyes lit with passion. “When I was seventeen, I saw a women beaten by her husband, begging a minister for help. He told her to be more obedient and sent her home. I vowed then and there to . . . to never marry.”
Anna picked up two empty plates and held them near the pie Claire was cutting. “I don’t blame you, Dahlia. If I ever get a divorce from Larry, I’ll spend the rest of my life unmarried.”
“Never say never.” Claire scooped out a slice of pie and slid it onto a plate. “I swore I would never marry again, and I didn’t think I could have children,” she said. “But here I am with a husband and two boys I love and adore. I couldn’t be happier.”
“Why wouldn’t you be happy?” Dahlia looked across the room to where Boyd was working, hammer in hand, his shirtsleeves rolled up muscled forearms, his dark, handsome profile too perfect for words. “If a man like your husband ever knocks on my door, I’ll marry him before he can ask for directions.”
Claire and Anna laughed, their warmth and kindness soothing the rawness in Faith’s heart.
An echo of laughter came from the other side of the room, and they turned to see Patrick dancing Iris through the studded wall of the bedroom he’d just finished framing. Faith sighed and decided to let Iris off the hook. Although she’d flirted with Patrick all week, she’d maintained acceptable behavior for Cora’s and Adam’s benefit. And for her own.
Iris wouldn’t admit it, but she’d finally met her match. Patrick Lyons was outrageous enough to keep her off balance.
And Tansy certainly enjoyed flirting with Cyrus. Mr. Darling was a quiet man, and acted with utmost decorum, but his eyes followed Tansy like she was an exotic butterfly in a field of wildflowers. Tansy’s airy southern sweetness charmed the man, and the dazed look on his face said he was a goner.
Faith was too. Duke was temptation itself. Every treatment on his shoulder put them alone together and thrust temptation in her path. Every charming half-smile, every teasing wink from his thick-lashed eyes, every scorching kiss and touch of his strong hands drew her closer to his flame. And that heat built between them the following week as he and the men finished framing up her house.
But Faith wasn’t the only one craving Duke’s attention. Adam hung on Duke’s every word, trying his hand at carpentry, beaming when Duke praised him, letting Duke teach him skills a father should teach his son.
Faith wanted Duke to be the one who guided Adam into manhood—and for him to guide her into becoming a wife and mother to their children.
Chapter 18
Adam left his kicking-stone by the greenhouse and hurried out onto Liberty Street. Sheriff Grayson had a rowboat stashed in the gorge behind the house he shared with his mother, and he’d told Adam they could take it out today—after Adam apologized to Faith. So Adam had told Faith he was sorry, and she’d forgiven him as she always did; but her forgiveness only made him feel worse. He would never lie to her, or to anyone, again.
As he walked past Rebecca’s house, he saw her family in the front yard under the huge oak tree. Rebecca’s father was on his knees straddling William, who was calling for help. A little boy ran across the yard with a wild whoop, and jumped on Mr. Grayson’s back. “Got you, Daddy!” he cried.
Rebecca’s dad gave a loud grunt and fell to his side. Adam huffed out a quiet laugh. It would take a man the sheriff’s size or bigger to knock over Mr. Grayson.
“Help us, Becca!” the little boy yelled, clamping his arms around his dad’s neck.
Rebecca dashed across the yard, her pretty black hair bouncing across her back. Adam’s heart cartwheeled, and he stopped to watch. He hunched down and braced his elbows in the tumble of morning glory vines that flowed like a waterfall over the stone fence.
Rebecca planted her foot on her father’s stomach. “Unhand my brothers, you ogre.”
Her dad lunged upward and grabbed Rebecca’s waist, making her screech as he pulled her into the fray.
“Get her, Dad!” William yelled.
Rebecca swatted at her brother. “You little turncoat,” she said, then burst into wild laughter as her father tickled her.
“What are the magic words?” Mr. Grayson asked.
“I love you,” Rebecca gasped and giggled, kicking her feet.
“Are you sure?” he asked, not letting up.
“Yes!” She shrieked with laughter. “I love you, Daddy!”
Her father stopped tickling, and kissed her forehead. “I love you too, sprite.”
Mrs. Grayson planted her hands on her hips and looked at her family sprawled on the lawn. “Who is going to scrub those grass stains out of your clothes?” she asked.
“Nobody. We’ll wear them to clean the barn.” Mr. Grayson caught his wife’s hand and pulled her down beside him, then promptly growled and bit her neck.
Her laughter filled the yard. “You need a shave.”
“I need a kiss.” He planted a big one right on her lips.
